Balance
by latte drabble
Summary: <html><head></head>One drabble per episode. Mako and Asami reflect on Korra's return in the most BroMasami way possible…which involves confessions, fluffy towels, and lemon shochu.</html>
1. One

Title: One - After All these Years

Word Count: 1,480

Rating: T (for language)

Notes: One drabble per episode: Book4 Episode 1: BroMasami. Is this a thing? Maybe I can make it a thing. Or if its already someone else's thing, sorry! Thanks for letting me use this term! Partially inspired by the Masami Friendship Headcanons that I read a while ago~

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><p>Mako is clearly staring but he really doesn't give a damn.<p>

He's reclined in his chair, absentmindedly swirling his drink in his glass—it's straight. No ice and its maybe his sixth or seventh. His gaze is unwavering as he stares into the crowd. Near the middle, there's a group of girls clustered together; their hips gyrating in tight, inviting circles.

One of them, in particular, is wearing a tight blue dress that frames her hips perfectly. She's lean and the lights dance on the clean lines of her arms…out of the corner of her eye, she spots him staring and a coy smile spreads on her face.

"Do you want me to give her your number?" says Asami. Her voice sounds like bells but it doesn't break his line of sight.

"Nope," he grunts as he tips the glass back before he pushes his chair away to get another.

He tells himself that he's not the least bit ashamed that the only thing he noticed about that girl was her hair. It was pulled up in a high ponytail, strung through a narrow tube that glinted in the colorful lights.

He doesn't even remember the girl's face.

….

"Seriously, Mako. When did 'Going out to get shit-faced for fun' Night turn into 'Stalker Stare' Night?"

"…I wasn't staring," he lies, distracting himself by unbuttoning the top of his shirt.

"Oh whatever," sighs Asami, before she kicks her shoes off. 'Going out to get shit-faced' Night usually transitions to 'Drunken Confessional' Early Mornings, because if the two of them aren't going to remember it anyway, who cares? They usually lounged around in the fire escape above the club—it was a bit rusty but the view of the city lights was spectacular.

It was roughly 2AM.

Asami breaks the silence first. "Was it because of her hair?"

"….Maybe."

"I thought so."

"Did you make out with that guy just to test drive his sports car?

"…Maybe."

"Thought so."

….

Asami stops coming to visit him. Instead, she sends…messengers. He notices that they're subtle, at first.

The first one is the girl from the club. She winks at him as she hands over the folder—he only notices its her because of the tube in her hair. He dismisses her quickly.

The second one is taller, and the robin's egg blue of her top matches the color of her eyes. He glances at her for a second before he signs the receiving slip and turns away.

It's the third that finally set's him off—he opens the door and as soon as his brain registers what he's seeing…he unapologetically slams the door in the poor girl's face. There's a muffled cry of surprise on the other side and then a gasp of shock as he rips the door open again, this time with his keys in his teeth as he jerks on his leather jacket. The girl nearly falls over the railing—at this, he shouts his apology over his shoulder.

….

"WHAT. THE. FUCK, Asami?" He has muscled his way into her clean, posh apartment and he's shouting.

She looks confused as she darts around him, quickly shutting the door for damage control, but it's too late—there's already a little old woman peeking out from behind her curtains. "What? I didn't do anything," she protests.

"The last one—that was the last fucking straw." He's practically spitting now and he doesn't give a damn if what's-his-name-number-eleven is sleeping in her bedroom down the hall.

"You mean Jai? She's dropped off some slips to you before, you never had a problem with her," says Asami. She pulls her cardigan tighter to her chest.

"Yeah, dressed in a freaking fur pelt with her hair pulled up in a tail? What the fuck?"

Asami's hands are up now, trying to calm him down but he has past feeling 'calm' at least an hour ago. "Look, Mako—"

"I know what you're doing, but you know what?" He's seething now, and heat building in his clenched fists is so overwhelming, he slams one of them into her walls. "None of them are her. You can dress them up like her and some of them practically look like they're wearing her face. But NONE of them are her, NONE."

The silence is deafening. "Mako, I just wanted you to be happy. That's all."

"...I know." He slumps on her couch. "It's just that…her being gone is hard enough. I don't really need to be reminded by seeing bad copies every day."

Her hand tentatively comes to rest on his shoulder, and when he doesn't angrily throw it off, she sits next to him. "I know, I just…I'm sorry."

They sit in silence that's not so loud, ignoring the blackened hole above them.

….

"I dumped Kei today."

"Oh. What's-his-name-number-thirteen? The jerk?" Mako doesn't miss a beat. It's just around Midnight, tonight. The club was practically dead so Drunken Confessionals was moved up early.

"Yeah," she sighs louder this time, taking a long swig of the bottle, "Honestly. It was because he…" She grimaces and he sits up, suddenly very interested. "He….had this weird obsession with my toes."

Mako's face wrinkles in morbid intrigue and disgust. "Toes?"

"Yeah, when we did it…he liked to…my toes! He had to suck on my toes."

Mako nearly throws up all of the drinks from that evening. "I hope what's-his-name-number-fourteen is a bit more normal."

Asami sighs a third time, and takes an even longer swig.

"But, in all honestly," says Mako, flipping the bottle cap expertly between his fingers, "You were way too good for Thirteen."

She laughs, but its hollow. "Really? He came from the best prep schools that the Fire Nation has. He was the CEO of his own company, by the time he was seventeen. He could speak four languages. FOUR."

Mako flips the cap up and catches it. "Yeah, but he was still an asshole. And he treated you like shit. AND he had a weird toe fetish. Asami, you are amazing, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You deserve someone that'll treat you way better—you deserve respect."

Asami goes for one more swig but her coordination is almost entirely gone—Mako has to stretch to grab it as it slips from her fingers. The heavy glass is slippery but he manages to catch it by the neck; its golden contents squishing around violently.

She merely laughs, but it's so full of distress that he says nothing witty, he just listens and reaches over to hold her hand.

"All I really want…is for someone to love me, the same way that you love her."

"Aaaaasami," he slurs, scooting closer to wrap both arms around her head. He knows that she appreciates this because she starts to laugh and hiccup, simultaneously. "Don't give up! You've practically got your whole life ahead of you. He's out there, you'll see."

She mumbles into his coat sleeves. "You're a good friend."

He responds by giving her a softer (or perhaps drunker) version of a noogie.

….

"...And Beifong told me that Korra is getting in tonight."

"I can't wait to see her."

Both of them are all smiles, but her hand squeezes his arm assuringly before she leaves. She knows that he's nervous as hell. She can read it in the short breaths that he takes, the terseness of his speech. The way the corners of his mouth tend to turn downwards automatically.

Three years. It's a long time and he's still not sure how he feels about it.

Before he knows it, they're all standing out at the dock. All of them. In his mind, he was hoping that it' d be a small, private affair (perhaps just the old Team Avatar, and Tenzin maybe) but three years is a while—of course everyone would be there. He wasn't the only one who's been missing her.

But when Naga barrels out, and Tonraq is next—by himself….and Mako's brain finally puts two and two together (she's…not…here), his body tenses up until he can't take a breath. Wu stares at him, questionably, before he follows Raiko and his wife. Mako feels several little hands brush past him, followed by the warm, fuzzy wall which is Naga's side. Pema's hands pat his back and Tenzin nods solemnly as he passes.

Tonraq, on the other hand, pauses and places a heavy hand on Mako's shoulder. "She thought of you often," he rumbles, before he follows he crowd.

Soon, it's just Mako, still standing there, and Asami. They stand in silence for a while before she tentatively moves to stand next to him, hooking his arm with hers while resting her head against his shoulder.

He's rather grateful for her presence…its little comfort compared to how he feels but it's still something. Her silence means everything—she totally understands.

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><p><strong>AN**: I wanted this to be a little funnier! But idk. BroMasami seemed more of heartfelt touching cool friend moments vs. funny friend moments. And I tried to minimize using Korra's name, to make her absence felt...a little differently. Is this weird? Tell me if read really weirdly, please. D:


	2. Two

Title: Two - Korra Alone

Word Count: 1,910 words

Rating: T (for language)

Notes: Korracentric view on what she's going through in Eps 1 & 2. These episodes were so emotional for me! What Korra is going through is tough-I wanted to flesh out a little of what (I think) is going thorough her head. A bit of Makorra (of COURSE)-it's there but just a taste since we've been having a drought.

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><p>Everyone knows that Korra has nightmares. It's not a secret and there was no way that Korra could have kept it a secret, even if she tried.<p>

She was never a stranger to physical pain and for her entire life, she was a 'grin and bear it' kind of girl. No screaming, that was for wussies.

But when she would bolt upright in the middle of the night, her hands tangled in her hair as if she could pull the disturbing images out of her head from the roots of her long, thick locks…she barely recognized the wail that burst from her lips.

She never spoke about what they were about, specifically, but she knew the general consensus was that she was terrified of the….incident, and of going into the Avatar State.

They were only partially right, but Korra never speaks of it. Instead, she wheels herself around the Palace and tries to smile when she runs into someone.

The expression feels fake, cheap, and plastic.

….

Korra is a stranger in her own body—she has no control over her actions and she can't stop what's happening. She is her beautiful, larger-than-life, gargantuan self—the _true _Avatar Korra. Her presence radiates a bright, harsh spiritual light and her eyes are cold. cold. cold.

She watches in horror as the Avatar assaults Air Temple Island. A giant, clenched hand swats the bison that's trying to save Tenzin and his family. She stomps onto the beach and grabs the Airship that Asami is piloting, hurtling it into ocean. The Avatar roars as the parachute flashes in the distance.

The earth splits under her fists and Bolin disappears instantly—a blast of fire from her gaping mouth incinerates her Father's body first—he tries to shield her Mother but she vaporizes instantly after. The Avatar slams her fists together—the shockwave sends an elderly Katara flying into debris.

A flash of red catches the Avatar's eye—her head snaps towards the source. Mako is hanging on for dear life; his fingers are clutching for handholds in the rock face as his scarf flutters in the wind.

Korra's throat is hoarse from screaming…at this point, all she can do is sob when the Avatar's lips curl up in a mocking smile. She is effortlessly graceful as she bends down, cradling Mako within her monstrous palm. Slowly and deliberately, her fingers snap closed, one by one as that smile turns into something sinister.

….

Her lips are chapped, her skin is sunburnt, and the soles of her feet are blistered and aching, but all Korra cares about is sleep.

And of course, sleep never comes when it's wanted.

In a bored effort to occupy her mind since sleep isn't an option, Korra's mind wanders…she thinks of home.

She thinks of Asami, who is probably hunched over her desk, overworking herself, as usual. There are probably twelve pencils stuck in her hair like a strange, pointy halo—an odd habit that Asami tends to do when she's distracted and working on something new. She always reaches for a new pencil and forgets that she stuck the last one in her bun.

She thinks of Bolin, who is most likely be…eating. Or perhaps something more romantic, like stargazing with Opal. Or eating? With Opal? A small smile flits across Korra's face—knowing that Bo is being taken care of brings her comfort.

And, she thinks Mako, who would be just getting home from a long day's work. Korra grins to herself, softly, because she knows he would have burdened himself with papers and folders and boxes full of fried noodles. And that he'd be swearing at himself because _OF COURSE, _he forgot the mustard. AGAIN. (It was always her job to remind him about that, before the left the shop.)

She can practically picture him dropping everything onto his dining table with a loud, aggravated sigh. His eyebrows would be furrowed, as usual, but as he unbuttoned his jacket, one button a time, his expression would slowly relax. Slowly.

He'd carefully hang his jacket up on the hanger waiting on the wall, but the rest of the process wasn't as precise. His crisp, white, officer's shirt comes with collar pins and cufflinks—gold to match the buttons of his jacket. He unfastens these quickly, tossing them into a small bowl onto the counter. The shirt itself is also unbuttoned swiftly; his deft fingers would be used to the ins-and-outs of the buttonholes by now.

What Mako wouldn't rush, which also happens to be Korra's favorite part, is the shrugging off of his shirt. He would roll his shoulders back, stretching his stiff muscles, and slowly pull his arms out, the right one first, then the left. He would have neglected to wear an undershirt, _of course_, and the lines of his back would shift deliciously as he balled up said shirt, tossing it onto the couch. His defined shoulders would taper smoothly to his waist—she could imagine that his hip bones would be peeking up from his waistband.

And of course, Korra thinks to herself, it would have been a ridiculously hot day in Republic City. It would be only natural if everything came off. Right? Right.

She imagines that he'd walk over to the shower, turning the water on full-blast. The button to his trousers would open and the he'd pull the zipper down slowly before stepping out of them—he'd be wearing boxers. Light grey. Regulation? Probably not—they had light blue stripes. Just as she pictured him slipping the light cotton off of his hips, she tentatively slid her hand under her own waistband…

Suddenly, there's a flash—everything is dark except for _Her_. _Her _ominous eyes, silently glowing are the only thing that Korra can see. Her mouth was expressionless but Korra KNEW that the corners—they'd be turned up, ever so slightly. And _Her _elegantly slim fingers would be snapping shut, one by one.

Violently shaken out of her daydream, Korra groans, and flips over.

This has got to stop.

….

Korra is freaking pissed off. She dodges left, jumps right, but it isn't the same—she feels old, stiff, and rusty. She desperately wants to land a blow but nothing is falling into place. Her movements are starting to flounder in fatigue.

"Is that all you've got?" Korra shouts as she gasps, her hands up.

_She _says nothing, as usual. _She _flicks the chains on her wrist; Korra moves a split second too late—she's sent flying into the wall.

_Get up get up get up get up_, her mind screams, but her body is weak—her arms give out and a bell tolls.

….

The cracked mirror makes her black eye look even worse. No amount of water bending healing is going to speed this one up; it'll have to heal on its own.

As she smoothes a bubble of healing water over her forearm, she can't help but think of a previous time she had sported a black eye from an Earthbender—it was one of the Fire Ferret's early matches. A loss (her fault); She had failed to block the spinning disk and it had hit her square in the face. She had sulked out of the arena and had tried to escape as quickly to the locker room before he stopped her in the hallway.

"Korra, you've got to move your hips—you're so stiff," he had exclaimed, placing his helmet on the ground. "Look, you've got to twist, then at least you can dodge the disks and stay on your feet."

Before she knew it, he had two gloved hands on her hips. They slid upwards to grasp her firmly around the waist as he swiveled her body back and forth. "You can't force it, you've got to go with the flow. Korra—are you even listening to me?"

She had meekly (or _perhaps_ awkwardly—oh definitely, it was awkwardly) managed a few okays before he accepted that she understood, and stalked off to the locker room himself.

Korra shakes her head. She had been so embarrassed! A black eye and Mako was right up in her face. Not the best way to present yourself to the guy you can't stop thinking about, but even through gloves—his touch was electric.

A loud pounding on the door makes her drop the water back into the sink and she twists to shout at the man outside.

Yep, still stiff. She'd have to work on that.

….

There is NOTHING she wants more than to END this.

She grits her teeth, swinging a boulder right at _Her_, but of course it misses. As usual, _She _just stands there. Her face is impassive but _She _looks determined. Korra tries to control her breathing a little more—this isn't going to be easy.

'_I've got this_,' she tries to reassure herself, '_Don't I? I'm…the Avatar._'

_Her _poster is menacing; _Her _shoulders are hunched up and _Her _fists are clenched. _She _hurtles forward, suddenly, and Korra slices water at _Her body—_she remembers at the last second to throw her hip into it—and the second slice is devastatingly harder and faster than the first.

_She _doesn't even feel it. _She _simply phases to the left and continues her onslaught of the elements.

Korra starts to panic now; she's in the air hanging on for dear life—she can't help but think that this is exactly like her dreams and that _She _is going to grab her with her massive hand and snap her fingers shut one by one.

_'Oh shit—I can't do this. I'm not the freaking Avatar, _SHE is,' Korra thinks rapidly, _'I'm just some dumb, pathetic water-tribe girl who lets everyone down and can't even—'_

Her eyes are wide with fear as she feels chains wrap around her feet, pulling her downward. As she she feels herself being swallowed by the body of Poison, Korra reaches for the sky—everything fades to black.

* * *

><p><strong>AN**: I kind of feel like Korra WANTS to to be the Avatar and she's not afraid of being the Avatar, it's the other parts that fill her with self doubt. The fact that she can't control it, that the Air Nation is out keeping the peace, the fact that her friends are out living while she's relearning how to walk. The idea that she's not good enough and that she's got to live up to some ideal. I'm thinking that these insecurities are whats manifesting as the big, bad, Avatar presence. But idk. I'm just sitting here typing while I drink my coffee~


	3. Three

Title: Three - The Coronation

Word Count:

Rating: K

Notes: One Drabble per Episode. Makocentric (but Makorra, of course). After the Coronation fiasco, Mako finds Korra in unexpected places.

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><p>Mako feels that his tolerance of pain is relatively high. He's had a rough childhood, he's a veteran of the pro-bending circuit, he's helped the Avatar save the world a few times…but this. THIS is just too much.<p>

Ever since the fiasco at the Coronation and at Little Ba Sing Se , Wu has confined himself to the hotel—which means endless hours in the hotel spa…for Mako, as well. After all that heart to heart in the fake Palace, Mako's got a bit more sympathy for the practically disposed ruler, but it's reached the point (again) where he feels like he's going to go crazy. He's got to get out.

"Wu, there's something I've got to take care of back at the station," he says. He tries to keep his voice level and smooth. "Officers Cho and Wang are here, they'll be right outside."

Wu bolts straight up, but doesn't take the seaweed wrapping off of his eyes. "Maaaako, you can't leave!" whines the Prince, "What if some…bad guy sneaks in and tries to drown me in my own seaweed infusion bath?"

It takes all of Mako's strength and willpower to answer cordially—he takes a deep breath as he feels the irritation building in his temples. "Cho and Wang are extremely capable, and I'll only be gone a few hours."

Wu grumbles but settles back into the tub. "Ohhhhkay fine. A few hours. Chop chop." A seaweed covered hand arises from the murky depths and shoos him away—the universal sign of Royalty that the commoners are now excused.

Mako bows, slightly, and leaves the room. He trades sarcastic eye rolls with Cho and Wang, then tries to walk confidently out of the hotel lobby…but when he gets there, he can't help but sprint. Freedom is so sweet.

….

Thanks to that amazing seaweed wrap—Mako LOVES the seaweed wrap—he gets 4 hours of freedom per day. FOUR HOURS to do whatever he wants.

Sometimes, he crashes at Asami's office. She's got plans and books on all the chairs except for one—it's long and short, with soft pillows on one end. He thinks she does it on purpose—it looks like a chair you'd find in a psychologist's office—but he doesn't care. Venting is venting (even if he does sit in the chair).

He talks, she just nods and says 'Mmm,' 'Oh really?' and 'Uh-huh' whenever she's prompted. Half of the time, he's holding blueprints for her like a human easel.

"Seriously, are you even listening to me?" he exclaims, sprawled out on said chair. He has the pillows bunched up behind his head but he pulls them both out and chucks them at her before raking both hands through his hair in frustration.

Asami doesn't even bat an eye as she dodges the fluffy projectiles—she looks up from her stack of papers, pushing her chic black frames up her nose. "Of course, Mako. I'm multi-tasking! Keep talking, and hand me that set of plans on your right."

….

Sometimes, he goes back to the office. His desk is clean—all of his cases have been reassigned to someone else (he begrudgingly accepts this because being the Earth King's bodyguard is technically a higher level job).

Every now and then, there's a note on his desk. Sometimes they're from the other detectives on his team, sometimes its mail from Bolin, who is still angry and writes all his notes in third person. He still writes, nonetheless. And sometimes, it's orders from Beifong. These are always on stark, crisp white paper with thin, skinny block print in capital letters.

He finds one of these under his stapler; it's folded in half, very precisely. He's afraid that when he opens it, it'll tear in two but the paper holds up in his hands.

Mako, you're on holiday party duty. Go into the archives and bring back copies of the front page with Tsai making that stupid face. I don't remember what month it was—we're going to pin stuff to his nose.

Mako sighs. This was top grade, extremely rewarding police work, right here.

….

The head archivist is a little mousy woman with round glasses who wears a baggy striped sweater over her uniform. She blinks at him over her thick lenses before she directs him to the dusty viewing stations in the corner.

Microfilm. Great. This was going to take FOREVER.

He slumps into the chair and hangs his coat off of the back as the Archivist quietly hands him several trays to examine. She's got a pretty sharp memory—she thinks the newspaper clipping in question was about three years ago.

He peers into the viewer as he inserts the frames, one by one. He sees Raiko in the first couple, making long speeches in front of buildings covered in vines. He also sees Asami, dainty cutting ribbon after ribbon, but no sign of Tsai. After an hour, he pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration. Three hours left of precious freedom and he's stuck here, looking at old newspaper clippings! Maybe he'd be better off getting some mooncakes and heading back to the hotel.

Right before he shoves his chair backwards, the Archivist hurries back—she's been looking too. She's narrowed it down to a month and they dig into the black and white frames together.

On the second frame, he finds Tsai. It was probably revenge on the Department after issuing all those parking tickets outside of the Publishing HQ—they published a horrible picture of Tsai the next day. His eyes were practically cock-eyed as he sat hunched on a stool, his head tilted back as he inhaled a large bowl of spicy fried noodles. The tagline, "Police Getting Lazy?" was spelled out in big, capital letters above his head.

"Thank you, you've made my day" he says to the Archivist, profusely shaking her hand. Now he's got time for moon cakes, after all! The woman is rather shy and not used to compliments—she blushes madly and retreats back to her desk.

He quickly shrugs his coat on, glancing at the soft glow of the microfilm screen as he straightens the buttons. Just for kicks, he decides to try one last frame before leaving.

Peering into the viewer, he adjusts the knob until the image is clear—and what he sees makes his stomach flip.

It's Korra. She's got one hand up, waving to the crowd, leather racing goggles pushed up in her hair. Mako remembers this day—it was a charity event for Future Industries. Korra and Asami were racing around the tarmac against a pro-racer team from the Fire Nation; the Heiress won by a nose.

Korea and Asami are hooked by the arm wearing matching gleeful smiles; they look like sisters who have gotten away with something mischievous but the camera only has eyes for the Avatar. The shot is focused in on her face, framed by the confetti of rose petals that was scattered throughout the air.

Mako can't tear his eyes off of her—she looks so…happy. So stunningly, effortlessly beautiful. He's promised himself that he won't think about how much he misses her (the way her lips curve up when she smiles, the tapering of her waist, how her hair smells after a shower)…so he's not surprised that all of the feelings that he's worked so hard to repress bubble to the surface.

He stays at the viewer until the silver watch tucked into his breast pocket starts to tick—his four hours are up. Back to Guard Duty.

….

Mako is a fairly organized person-He's decided on a schedule. On Mondays and Wednesdays, he visits Asami. He sits in her stupid chair, holds her plans up straight, but he's unusually quiet. She jokingly teases that she'll send an assistant to cheer him up ("UGH no more blind dates," he complains, "It's cruel and unusual punishment.") but otherwise, she leaves him alone. By now, she knows that he prefers to deal with things silently, at first.

Tuesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays, he spends wandering. He walks his old patrol route, eats lunch on the balconies of the pro-bending arena. Sometimes, he goes to the park. There's a little raised area that gives an excellent view of the statue and the grounds—this is where he likes to lean against the railing with a can of milk tea…and think.

Usually, he thinks about trivial things. He thinks about Tsai's stupid face, about the books he checks out from Jinora…he thinks about the seaweed wrap which he is so thankful for.

And sometimes, when he looks upon the Avatar's stone, impassive face, he thinks about serious things. Like how she's doing, wherever she is… He wonders, if she's happy. And if she's happy with someone else.

….

To cheer him up (or to twist the knife of insecurity deeper, depending on how he looks at it), he spends Thursdays and Sundays in the Archive. Sometimes, he blends in Wednesdays and Fridays, also.

He gets to know the Archivist a little better—her name is Kei. She knits all of the sweaters that she wears and she has four cats. She is addicted to salty black bean tarts and has been with the department for almost the same time as he has. She's also seen every Nuk Tuk mover ever released….twice.

They've settled into a routine—he says hello and sits at the Microfilm viewer at the far right and she smiles, handing him a tray with a three month's worth of frames. They sit in a comfortable silence as he switches cards to the rhythm of her clicking knitting needles.

It's almost like a game. He's found Angry Korra, Pleased Korra, Extremely Angry Korra, Awkward Korra, Apologetic Korra, Gleeful Korra. Sometimes, it's just a piece of her the shot but he can always tell it's her—her form is always confident, always so sure. He wishes the images were in color—the blue of her top never fails to catch his eye in a crowd.

Somedays, the silver watch ticks and he stays for a few minutes more—it almost feels like the only thing that he's got left of her are these black and white pieces of film.

….

Eventually, all good things must come to an end. Wu is moving tomorrow, which means the end of the amazing, most beloved seaweed wrap…and his freedom. Mako wishes he could take back every horrible thing he said about the service—it truly was something to appreciate. (Perhaps for the wrong reasons, but still.)

This also marks the last day he spends in the Archive and his four hours are done before he knows it. It's his most disappointing find yet; none of the front pages of the paper featured the Avatar.

Switching off the viewer for the last time, he bids a fond farewell to Kei, but she stops him before he walks out the door.

"The archive doesn't keep hard copies of anything, really, it'd take up too much space," Kei explains, shrugging just one shoulder. "Sometimes though, I get lucky and I'm able to find something."

She thrusts a brown envelope into his hands, instructs him not to open it until he's left the building, and thanks him for the company—the Archive doesn't really get too many visitors, you know.

Out of respect for his new friendship, Mako obeys. He waits until he's strapped on his helmet and straddled his bike before he undoes the ties of the envelope.

He purses his lips in surprise—there's a picture wrapped in a note. In Kei's smooth, loopy handwriting, he reads, 'Figured you might like this one. It was on the sports page, which is probably why you never found it. If you ever feel like reading the paper some more, the Archive is always open~'

It's a proof of the shot that made the final edition—a portrait sized, black and white image. It's Korra, again, but to his surprise, he sees himself standing next to her. His arm is thrown around her shoulder as they flash thumbs up to the camera—they are drenched in sweat but their expressions are triumphant; they had just defeated the Red Sands Rabaroos in the first round of the tournament.

Mako laughs to himself, one hand framing his chin as he examines the picture. Just ever so slightly, Korra is leaning in towards him—he's too high off the win to notice—and she's smiling her typical, 'I can take on the world' smile. He has to look hard until he sees Bolin's foot in the corner—there's a few 'I 3 Nuk Tuk' signs in the background, his brother must be appeasing his fans.

His chest tightens as he carefully replaces the picture into the envelope, tucking it into the briefcase that's strapped to the side of the bike. He starts to feel his heartbeat beat a little stronger—this is a signal to turn the ignition on his bike. The sudden rumble distracts him from the feelings that start to surface—Spirits. He misses that girl.

As Mako zooms off to the hotel, savoring every last second of freedom, he makes a note to drop off some bean tarts for the Archivist.

…..

A/N:

AHH these episodes are amazing but heavier—I wrote something deeper for Korra Alone so I wanted this one to be different. Yes, it really has nothing to do with the Coronation itself.

Alternate Picture Ending: Korra sitting outside on the steps of the library, Naga stretched out behind her. There's a gaggle of small children at her feet—she's reading to them and they LOVE it. Mako's in the frame too, leaning on Naga as he makes notes in his logbook.

Idea for the Picture—Mako tucks it into the mirror of his dresser; secretly tells her good morning and goodnight before he leaves his apartment.


	4. Seven

Title: Seven - Reunion

Rating: K

Notes: Mako and Asami reflect on Korra's return in the most BroMasami way possible…which involves confessions, fluffy towels, and lemon shochu.

Something silly and cute for wanbender! I love your list. :D And also because I [also] thought the restaurant scene was a bit…idk…and I wanted MOREEEEE makorra. Oh well. Woohoo, material!

—

Mako steps out of his borrowed suite, his hair still damp from the shower. He's wearing the spare clothes of someone from his family—he's not sure who—but they're comfortable and they fit. It's actually nice to be rid of the stiff collar of his uniform, for once.

He's about to head downstairs when he sees Asami staring out the window. She's standing in the hallway, wrapped in a long, plush robe as she works her ebony locks with a fluffy towel. When she hears his footsteps, she beckons him closer.

Mako sighs as he walks over; it's been…a long day, to say the least. He feels weary; all of him, both body and soul, but it's his soul that's bearing the majority of the burden. When he reaches her side and looks down to see what—_who_—Asami is watching, his breath gets caught in his throat and his heart throbs uncomfortably within his chest.

It's Korra, of course. She's wearing her own clothes because the benefit of being a water-bender as well as an air-bender is to be perennially clean and dry, whenever she wishes. She's standing outside, on a balcony a floor down, hopefully staring into the horizon, basking in the last rays of sunlight for the day.

"So? Does it feel weird that she's back?" asks Asami, rubbing the towel through the ends of her hair.

Mako sighs again, his shoulders slumping, "…Yeah, it does. I mean, I'm glad but it feels…kind of awkward," he confesses, "I thought I played it cool at first, but at the restaurant…I don't know."

Asami hums in understanding. "It's okay, I didn't do any better. It's kind of understandable after this sort of thing…Three years is a long time."

"…Why didn't you tell me that she wrote you? Why didn't she write me? I wrote her all those letters and…" He says, letting his words trail off. He turns his head in her direction, but he doesn't look her in the eyes. He can't.

"…It was…hard, for her, to write to me, even," Asami answers quietly. "She was going through something rough and sometimes, it's just easier to talk to another girl."

Mako shrugs and says nothing, but he understands. There are things that he'd rather discuss with Bolin than Asami, any day. He returns his gaze to the window and stares at the girl downstairs. She looks the same, for the most part, and this is confusing yet comforting, all at the same time. She's only 50 feet away, why does it feel like the distance between then is measured in miles?

"And, I don't think she wanted you to see her, to hear from her, like that. She felt broken, Mako. And I'm getting the feeling that she still feels like that."

After a few moments of silence, Mako places a hand on her shoulder before he turns, walking away. "I'm going to go check on Wu, let me know when—"

Asami cuts him off, "Wait—aren't you going to go talk to her? She's downstairs, alone—this is perfect timing!"

Mako swivels on his heel until he faces her again. His face is scrunched up and he feels pressure in the bridge of his nose; he feels like he's been making this exasperated expression a lot, these days. "Really? What am I going to say—'It's been three years and I'm still in love with you and while you were gone, I missed you so much that it hurt and I'm also kind of pissed that you wrote your best friend instead of me but now I kind of get it and great! It's good to see you welcome back!?'" His words blur together in a rush, dripping with sarcasm and helplessness, all at the same time. Asami stares at him for a bit, and slowly, the corners of her lips start to curve upwards.

"Yes. Exactly. And to be fair—you're her _ex-_boyfriend. Even if you two still have feelings for each other, I think it technically bumps you after me, best friend," she says matter-of-fact, walking over and turning him around. He protests about technicalities but she gives him a little shove towards the staircase. "Just don't kiss her, I think that'd be too much."

"What? Why would I kiss her? She just got back—-"

She rolls her eyes. "You don't remember? That one time we went out and you drank too much lemon shochu? I guess you wouldn't—"

"—_What?_ What are you talking about? I don't—" He's indignant but he's bluffing; he's pretty sure that he knows the incident that she's referring to.

"Okay, let me quote you," Asami puffs her chest out and squares her shoulders. Her eyebrows furrow together as she speaks gruffly, "When Korra gets back, I'm going to grab her like this—" Her hands turn into claws and she hugs herself firmly,"—And I'm never gonna let her go cause I'm an idiot! I'm an idiot."

Mako grimaces as Asami bursts into laughter; he trots down the stairs but pauses on the landing as she comes to lean over the rail. "…That…didn't happen," he says, unconvincingly.

"Oh _yes,_ yes it did," she smirks. "But that's not even the best part!" She resumes her Mako persona once more, "And I'm—I'm gonna kiss her so well, she'll see stars and she'll never leave again!" This last bit is too much for Asami, her sides ache so much, she can barely breathe. "You know, on second thought—maybe you should kiss her," she muses, "I mean, stars are cool and all—-wouldn't that hurt? But then she'd be stuck with us for a while. Then we could catch up…get some coffee, or something."

Mako rolls his eyes and groans as he retreats down the staircase further, to avoid the blush that's madly coloring his face. "Let's… never speak of this, again."

"Sure, Mako, sure," she calls after him, "Tell Korra I said hi!"

—

**A/N**: My favorite part of this fic was writing that super long run-on sentence. I can imagine him just blurting it out and Asami just…blinking. Hahaha, *sigh* dorks.

And yes, I really did skip 4, 5, and 6. Idk, I liked them but I wasn't inspired…Was that how you guys felt as well? I wrote other things instead. ;]


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